You will find it in a publication called "Brillig," which was published at Quincy College, Quincy, Illinois, in 1965. It was a single-issue magazine of poetry, so no citation is needed to date of publication. The poem (such as it is) was published without attribution, but I can now announce, formally and publicly, that I wrote it.

Fie, you are a scoundrel and a plague-pox'd plagiarist; what sin, for one such as you, to place another's words under your name!! Th'art a demon in librarian's sheeply raiment, and a wicked, lazy, licentious lifter!!

Ahoy and avast, mateys! 'Tis old Looooooooooooooooooooong John Sliver come back to haunt ye! Did I ever tell ye about the night that I was ship's ghost to HMS Pinupfore? Aye, and that was a time! The Royal Navy was shippin' a ship load o' tarts from Liverpool to Scapa Flow for the enjoyment of Admiral Lord Nelson and the crew of HMS Victory Victory O! She was the first ship of her class, she was, and the Admiralty had taken to numbering the names of the ships, since they'd reuse the good ones over and over, and someone had pointed out to the Godalmighty Chief High Lord of the Admiralty that numbering should start with zero, only the person has said "Oh" instead. Eventually THAT scheme was scrapped, and good riddance to it, says I.

Well, this shipload of tarts was bound for Scapa Flow and Nelson when an iceberg struck Pinupfore as we were rounding John O'Groats. Terrible big, it was, and it crushed the ship between rocks and ice.

Bein' a ghost, I wasn't worried, but the young ladies were quite upset, not knowing what was going to happen to them. There was no help in sight, even though the Cap'n shot off rockets every five minutes, and fired the minute gun, and yelled for help. The ship was going down, for the aft forecastle was stove in and the fire had nearly reached the magazines in the passenger lounge.

Geeze, Chuck baby, we gotta business proposition for ya, in that case. You know that old song by "Old and In the Way" called Panama Red? We're thinking of cultural transmission on a galactic basis here, pal. The opportunities are mind-boggling. You know anything about your life-form's metabolism of resinous combustion by-products, by the way?

Diplomatic priveleges are unnecessary. They apply only to rubber-tyred conveyances to which officials post slips of paper. None bother my dumpsters. Let Jimmy know if you have a delivery. Don't offer to feed him.

Yo! Chuckles! I have a package for a Mr.Zimfmanduur on the third planet from the star we earth folks call Sirius. Is that on your way to wherever you're going? Could you drop it off for me? It'd save about $37,348,974.50 in postage.

Look at it as a spare Status Slot, Rapaire -- if the Mudcat goes down permanently, so you can't pull MOAB rank or be "Big Rapaire the Ineffable and All-Citing", you have another "important" identity to fall back on!!

Hey, better than having only hardscrabble denim identities, and it beats working for a living! :D

Tomorrow I must fly to Boise. I have a meeting there on Monday. I will fly home on Monday and be home in time for dinner. Usually I don't fly to Boise. Usually I don't fly anywhere. Usually I get in the car and drive. Thursday I drove to Idaho Falls. Usually I just drive to work and then back home. I used to drive a lot more than I do now. I used to drive for an hour each way to and from work. That was usually boring, but sometimes there were blizzards and then it got exciting. Once I even had an accident; that was REALLY exciting. But tomorrow I fly to Boise. I will rent a car at the Boise Airport, because I sure as hell don't want to be in Boise without wheels. Actually, I don't want to go to this meeting at all. But I will, because I have an overly developed sense of responsibility. And I am, much to my dismay, the Chair of the Idaho Library Association Conference, which will be held here in October. This is not one of my favorite things to do. Actually, my favorite thing would be for people to give me lots of money, regularily, just because I add so much to everyone's life simply by existing. But tomorrow I must fly to Boise.

I'm outa here. You are so screwed up I don't see how you put up with yourselves, much less how come Bubba Bubba could.

I went to deecee and looked for the Bee-Dubya-Ell. I thought that itshehe would most likely be in a building called "The National Air And Space Museum" because it seemed large enough to contain such a thing but the creature was not there (Bubba Bubba used to say, "Size COUNTS!"). I looked at a thing called "The Washington Monument" for the same reason, assuming that the Bee-Dubya-Ell was attempting to hide underground, but sheithe wasn't there, either.

I did not get the Bee-Dubya-Ell. I did collect several pellets of a copper-lead mixture, which were forced beneath my integument by a forceful expansion of gases. While these tickled, I did have to stop protein-based creatures from used explosives upon me. Not that such would damage me, but others might be hurt.

Once you start on protein-based creatures it's very hard to stop. I have gained several additional levels of potential energy during my visit to deecee.

But what has prompted my decision to leave is not the additional mass I gained in deecee, but the realization that all of you produce more of what is called "BS" than any other group of semi- and pseudo- sentient creatures in the Universe. Not the galaxy, the Universe. You are drowning it, it is and has been well over your breathing orifices, and yet you seem unaware of it. And you keep it from becoming useful compost by rushing around.

Forget it. If the Bee-Dubya-Ell is in our neighborhood I'll do what is necessary. Bubba Bubba would understand.

Fire is still burning, yet I am compelled to sit upon a naked journey with one sock on It may still be that way, or it may be that my pants have only gone as far as my knees, ,And I was left here to try and please..The masses of the insane and the bullshitters of the inane.please reconsider a subjective for-thought, for-skin, for-gratuity, fore-generation, fore-recreation, fore sought, not forgot seldom heard of thought.

My pants lay around my knees and I feel so confined I cannnot hardly tell you what it really feels like, HA! except that I feel confined. I tossed a lost soul from my van tonight without a thought of making him walk 10 miles in the dark. Shouldn't fuck with gratuity. I suddenly like the sound of tossed gratuity. makes me all shivery and inconsistant with the way I really am, but it is,what it was and I ain't going to change it now.

By the way, It was a guest that I was on the early morn of the other day singing a naked theme by the fire with one sock on. Did anyone know my prose or consider it to be a drunken prologue to what was to come?If you know me , then you knew. If you don't it was a stranger to you.Ha!

The following list of items are considered a minimum for the 21st Century outdoorsman. You may wish to add items but don't go out into the field without the minimum. Always dress for the occasion: You want clothing to live in, not to be found dead in. Knife: Big enough to do the job safely. Matches: Kitchen type in a waterproof container, such as a film canister. Plastic Whistle: Short range signaling. Signal Mirror: Signaling search aircraft. Fire Starter: Make them yourself by rubbing candle wax into patches of cotton. Aluminum Foil: 18" x 18" forming a cooking utensil. Cordage or String: Securing shelters, setting gill nets and snares. Snare Wire: Brass annealed for animal snares and repairs. Fish Tackle Hooks Line Sinkers Leader and/or 1" Gill Net. Map and Compass: Know how to use. Plastic Sheet, Rescue Blanket or Large Plastic Leaf Bag. Food: High energy.

Well then, he stole the old school tie from one of the girls, probably during a night of frolic and inebriation. Indubitably so. Whether or not to report him at this late date is an ethical quandary left as an exercise for the student.

Gender. Okay, a typical problem from work and the sort of thing I don't have to put up with each day.

Linda is in a wheelchair. Linda is "transgender." Linda uses our women's toilet. No problem, except that Linda is finished transgendering -- s/he has a full, bushy, beard and other definitely male characteristics (visible ones -- we haven't checked the other and really don't want to) and we KNOW that there's gonna be a scream and complaint. So we've suggested to Linda that s/he use the "unisex facilities" on the second floor as they are far better suited to chair-bound people (we've suggested the same to other chair-bound folks). Linda goes to visit City Hall, uses the Women's there. City Hall calls the cops.